Imagine the light, Soldier
by an-earl
Summary: "The streets were empty,lonely, a town for ghosts after the good people had deserted. And he came running back,free to roam as he pleased.A few glorious moments of nothingness, soundlessness. But only in Konoha."Oneshot,Kakashi returns from his final ANBU mission. The Third Hokage sees to his report.


Disclaimer: I do not have any rights to the Naruto franchise. All rights belong to Masaashi Kishimoto and the respective publication companies. This is simply my fanwork. thanks.

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Imagine the light, Soldier

The night was quiet, and still, the silence stretching on as if time could not touch it. The night was calm. Like the dead. The village was enveloped in it, held captive in the nights' bittersweet embrace. Others need not privy to the horrors that frequented it. Too often would ghosts flit about, kicking up downed leaves, riddling puddles with ripples, and tainting streets with crimson. He wasn't welcome here, where people lived, where children played. But the streets were empty now, lonely, a town for ghosts after the good people had deserted. And he came running back, free for once to roam the streets as he pleased. A few glorious moments of nothingness, soundlessness, and wind on his face. But only, here. It meant nothing to him if not here. In the streets of Konoha. From above, the moon graced the village, enshrouding the rooftops in a white light. The grey clouds fell back in its majesty, and suddenly, he was unwelcome again. Stigma. Behind him, crimson twinkled.

But moonlight failed to reach the corners of Konoha tower, and it stood as blackness permeated it to the inside as it did the outside. One window glowed in a yellow illuminance, fending off the dead of the night. The light source was a single, large flame dancing naked in an open lamp. Momentarily, it crackled under the steady feeding of oil at tis roots. The light blotted out some of the cold which extended from the window. It engulfed the room in a hue of yellow, softening to fade out at the edges of the circular radius- flame flickering at the centre, irresolute. A man sat crosslegged under folds of baggy white robes on a bamboo mat, slightly elevated form the floor. A low, wooden table stood at his right, and on it, the green gleam of a long, oddly-fashioned pipe made of jade. Dangling from the child was a pair of red strings, the ends adorned with a flurry of red threads. It was exquisitely made, and an unusually luxury item in the otherwise simple room. Beside it, lay a red, triangular headwear. Its official look, seemingly out of place. One word was imprinted on the front.

Fire.

And one on the back.

Hokage.

Tilting his head towards the ceiling, the hokage took a timely sigh, letting a white haze of drug-induced smoke waft out forcibly from parted lips. He watched in satisfaction as the wispy smoke swirled elusively, before dissipating into nothing more than a lingering smell. Facing the wavering lamp, light flooded Hokage. The age carved into the old face, served perhaps as a complement to the archive of wisdom behind dark eyes. But his expression was gentle. Done with the pipe, the old man busied himself with a stack of scrolls and bamboo books laid out on the wooden table, squinting every now and then in spite of the flame.

In a short, deft movement, the Hokage gave into his fatigue, shutting his eyelids. They blinked open mere seconds later, but the old man did not flinch as the empty room from before seemed to drop a few degrees lower, its shadowy centre now occupied. He was no longer alone in the tower. With each flicker of the flame, a dark silhouette manifested in the gloom. Silence extended to the very bones of the hokage, and as if to stop the soundlessness engulf him, he broke the trance.

"This is not the ANBU corp. Step into the light."

The old man's voice was quiet, calm, but although warmness resonated, he could not abandon authority. Almost surprisingly, the low voice was imperative, demanding of obedience, every quiver, an unmistakable command. As the words escaped, the man looked every inch the Hokage he was.

Immediately, the dark silhouette straightened up at the voice, and as if silence could be switched off, he let his footsteps clunk against the floorboards. He stepped forward. A ghostly white mask first burst into the light, revealing the abstract visage of a dog. But, upon exiting the shadows, the Hokage noticed the scruffy attempts at scrubbing the mask clean, and now one side was marred with blotchy, pigmented smudges. Telling of something being spluttered over. The mask's blue and black markings had all but almost been scraped off, creating a still visage of a white dog.

The rest of the man loomed out of the darkness with a strange reluctancy-like a snake being forced from its skin. Even as he parted from the blackness around the flame, the shadows cast under his mask and silhouette suggested otherwise. Either he and the dark were one entity. Or he would never be rid of its curse.

The light wavered momentarily, and so did the motionless man's presence. The Hokage said nothing as he let his eyes travel to the floorboards. Red was pooling at his shoes. Studying the man in silence, the Hokage's eyes fell over the ugly tears in the man's uniformly attire. Bits of navy material were ripped clean from its stitches, and hung ragged at its tears. The tips of the fibres tense and stiff, dried in red. Patches of skin were uncovered, and they were adorned by some large, deep gashes, many dry and flaking at the ends. Others were still leaking blood from where a sharpened katana or kunai had struck, leaving the skin broken and folded back in a grotesque fashion. _So, the weapon had been loaded by a foreign chakra of some element, to cause the flesh to be dug out in this way._

If the man before him felt some semblance of pain, the hokage was sure he didn't dare show it. The ANBU soldier merely stood there, in his blood, in absolute attention—familiar only to those with strict, military training. And he stood in that still, suppressed demeanour of a well-trained servant, completely oblivious to the gaping holes in his body.

The hokage sighed deeply. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with weary. "Identity. Report. " As the words left his mouth, the man stepped forward, and dropped to one knee. " Operatant 0801, name, Hatake Kakashi, ANBU force, sector 1. Covert black-ops. S-rank mission, status, complete." His voice was fast, mechanical. Clear, resolute. Disturbingly indifferent. And he was done.

The old man looked at Kakashi, but all he could make out was a glowing red eye staring straight at his own. It too, was weary. And piercing, but not out of malice. They were eyes that screamed of seeing too much and more than they deserved. In all of its red majesty, the sharingan seemed empty, vacant. As if nothing else could redeem the horrors they had seen or satisfy their bloodlust, anymore. His soul had collapsed within him.

Purposefully, he would obey and serve under alias after alias, perform sick mission after sick mission, until he hardly saw daylight and the sweet scent of bloodspill in the air no longer registered in his mind.

"Take off the mask."

A gloved hand reached to mask, and with a simple click, it slid to the side of his head. It was saddening, the hokage thought, that on his own accord, and even in death, the man before him would never shed his inner mask, a thin sheet of navy which snaked across his face. Outlining what should have been, handsome features. He couldn't even imagine the man without it, and he didn't know whether he would still be, Hatake Kakashi without it. It was part of him. Fear crept to his mind. He didn't want the mask to be his identity.

But this mask still failed to conceal the time he had endured, and he looked older than he was, his youth, stolen. His handsome features were marred by a long, thin scar, streaked across his red-glowing eye. It would taint him for the rest of his life. Silver hair in a mess, he had never looked so much like his father. The White Fang. A wave of guilt consumed the Hokage. Would Sakumo Hatake even recognise the man before him? It was his fault. He stole the boy of his youth, his freedom and innocence, subjected him to torturous tasks no other man, ninja, or ANBU could perform, and still, time after time, his allegiance never swayed. He never complained. There was never insubordination. And Hatake Kakashi trusted him, and was loyal to him, like a dog.

"Now. Tell me what happened, really"

"My report is unsatisfactory, Sandaime Hokage-sama?"

"Not the report." The third lifted a finger, pointing, letting it hover over the multitude of ugly wounds.

"How did this happen."

The silver haired man shut his revolving sharingan, shifting uncomfortably. Consternation fell over the Third's eyes.

"I…this is all part of the job, Professor. I know only too well."

When the Third failed to acknowledge anything other than an answer, Kakashi replied finally, eyes locking onto his.

" Outnumbered. About 20 to 1? Ninja from the bloody mist. I would say about 10 jonin, 10 ANBU-class. But not all A or S -rank, that is. A few, fledglings. The mission was successful, however. I took care of it."

"20 to 1?" The Hokage mused, voice gruff. "20 to 1, and you still don't call for reinforcements? Hatake Kakashi…"

"Like I said, I had everything under control, Professor…"

" … You're supposed to be the genius. Consider acting like one."

"Professor-"

"Kakashi. I never want to wait around, wondering whether you would come back alive, ever again." The Hokage faltered, pausing a second too long.

"Sir… forgive me. All I-"

"No. Forgive me."

Kakashi recoiled, propping himself back on both knees.

"I've asked the world of you. Too much. Too many times… I make myself sick. "

He stood suddenly, reaching for the Hokage's headress.

"You are the best, Kakashi. And there is no one else more undeserving of all the burdens I let you carry." He paused, smiling a little.

"From now on, and until hell freezes over, you are henceforth, resigned from the ANBU."

"….Professor…Pro..Hokage-sama?" Kakashi swallowed, the cogs in his mind turning, slowly, as if the fact were delayed.

"You're…expelling me?"

The Third frowned.

"Yes. No. I said, I'm resigning you." He looked down at his wide-eyed soldier.

"You've done too much in the shadows. Imagine how you could be in the light. I'm _freeing_ you."

The realisation settled, and his surprise flit away. Kakashi lowered his head.

"Yes. Professor…I…Thank you."

"Kakashi…I want you to be integrated back into to your village. I will give you 6 months to heal, and rest _…_ provided you _stay_ until the end of your hospital term. No exceptions. Make that an order.

"You may do as you want for that time. And then… and then I have an idea waiting for you. When the time comes, and _only_ if you wish… I will have a job ready."

"…I will return. By your order, under any circumstances, I will return as you need me."

"I know. You may return, but never again in that mask." He reached out his hand, and Kakashi handed the cold visage of the dog over.

"I suspect the ANBU wasn't doing you any favour. You've become quite famous. Your name is not only heard of in the underground. It rivals that of all the renowned- throughout the nations. 'Copynin Kakashi.' A fitting title."

"Hehe heh. I'm hardly worthy of a title, Professor. I will try my best to be someone worthy of stepping into the light."

"No. You are many times worthy. If only I can be half the man you are, Kakashi."

"Professor… "

"Come. Get off your knees. I will escort you to the hospital…look, you will lean on me, I won't have you black out on the way "

"Alright. Alright. Hehe…the sun is up."

"So it is."

"Ah…theres a shuriken in my back, Sir."

"So there is."

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Thank you so much, I am humbled for your read.

I'm sure you can guess exactly what the third's job is- if not, see the very beginning of the series! I realise there is a filler ep that deals with Kakashi leaving the ANBU too, and its good. But this is my take on it- a little more dramatic, ehehehe.

It would mean more than you know, for a simple comment or review. Thank you.

-earl


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